Get The Penal System An Introduction 6th Edition Mick Cavadino James Dignan George Mair Jamie Bennett Free All Chapters
Get The Penal System An Introduction 6th Edition Mick Cavadino James Dignan George Mair Jamie Bennett Free All Chapters
Get The Penal System An Introduction 6th Edition Mick Cavadino James Dignan George Mair Jamie Bennett Free All Chapters
com
https://ebookmeta.com/product/the-penal-system-an-
introduction-6th-edition-mick-cavadino-james-
dignan-george-mair-jamie-bennett/
OR CLICK BUTTON
DOWLOAD EBOOK
https://ebookmeta.com/product/the-takeaway-1st-edition-jamie-
bennett/
https://ebookmeta.com/product/defending-the-rush-1st-edition-
jamie-bennett/
https://ebookmeta.com/product/the-benchwarmer-woodsmen-
football-4-1st-edition-jamie-bennett/
https://ebookmeta.com/product/introduction-to-remote-sensing-6th-
edition-james-b-campbell-2/
Introduction to Remote Sensing, 6th Edition James B.
Campbell
https://ebookmeta.com/product/introduction-to-remote-sensing-6th-
edition-james-b-campbell/
https://ebookmeta.com/product/an-introduction-to-
sociolinguistics-6th-edition-janet-holmes/
https://ebookmeta.com/product/doing-philosophy-an-introduction-
through-thought-experiments-6th-ed-6th-edition-theodore-schick/
https://ebookmeta.com/product/an-introduction-to-windows-
operating-system-3rd-edition-einar-krogh/
https://ebookmeta.com/product/culture-and-communication-an-
introduction-james-m-wilce/
The Penal System
The Penal System
An Introduction
6th Edition
Michael Cavadino
James Dignan
George Mair
Jamie Bennett
Los Angeles
London
New Delhi
Singapore
Washington DC
Melbourne
SAGE Publications Ltd
1 Oliver’s Yard
55 City Road
Mathura Road
3 Church Street
Singapore 049483
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978-1-5264-6068-4
Printed in the UK
At SAGE we take sustainability seriously. Most of our products are printed in the UK using
FSC papers and boards. When we print overseas we ensure sustainable papers are used as
measured by the PREPS grading system. We undertake an annual audit to monitor our
sustainability.
Contents
Preface to the Sixth Edition
Online Resources
INTRODUCTION
I.1 The Criminal Justice System
I.2 The Penal Crisis and Strategies for Criminal Justice
I.3 Notes on Terminology: ‘Punishment’ and ‘System’
1 CRISIS? WHAT CRISIS?
1.1 Is There a Crisis?
1.2 The Orthodox Account of the Crisis
The High Prison Population (The ‘Numbers Crisis’)
Overcrowding
Bad Conditions
Understaffing
Staff Unrest
Security
‘Toxic Mix’ of Prisoners
Riots and Disorder
Criticisms of the Orthodox Account
1.3 Improving on the Orthodox Account
The Crisis of Penological Resources
The Crisis of Visibility
The Crisis of Legitimacy
1.4 Responses to the Crisis
1.5 A Radical Pluralist Account of the Crisis
2 JUSTIFYING PUNISHMENT
2.1 Is Punishment Unjust?
2.2 Reductivism
Deterrence
Incapacitation
Reform
2.3 Just Deserts: Retributivism and Denunciation
Retributivism
Denunciation
2.4 Restorative Justice
2.5 Schools of Penal Thought
The Classical School: Deterrence and the Tariff
Bentham and Neo-Classicism: Deterrence and Reform
Positivism: The Rehabilitative Ideal
The Justice Model: Just Deserts and Due Process
From ‘Just Deserts’ to ‘the New Punitiveness’ – and
Beyond?
2.6 Philosophies, Strategies and Attitude
2.7 Conclusions: Punishment and Human Rights
3 EXPLAINING PUNISHMENT
3.1 The Sociology of Punishment
3.2 The Marxist Tradition
Economic Determinism: Rusche and Kirchheimer
Ideology and Hegemony: The Legacy of Gramsci
‘Structuralist Marxism’ and Althusser
Post-Structuralism, Discipline and Power: Michel
Foucault
Humanistic Materialism: The Case of E. P. Thompson
3.3 The Durkheimian Tradition
3.4 The Weberian Tradition
3.5 Pluralism and Radical Pluralism
3.6 Applying Penal Sociology
The New Penology and the New Punitiveness
Comparative Penology and the New Punitiveness
4 SENTENCING: THE CRUX OF THE CRISIS
4.1 The Crux of the Crisis
4.2 Who Are the Sentencers?
4.3 Constraints on the Powers of Sentencers
Judicial Independence and Traditional English
Sentencing
Confining Discretion
Checking Discretion: Appeals
Structuring Discretion: Principles and Guidelines
The Current Legal Framework of Sentencing
4.4 A Brief, Tangled Recent History of Sentencing
1991: From the Strategy of Encouragement to ‘Just
Deserts’
1992–7: The Law and Order Counter-Reformation
New Labour, Mixed Messages
Coalition False Dawn
The Conservative Government’s Fragile Stability
4.5 A Rational Approach?
5 PUNISHMENT IN THE COMMUNITY
5.1 Community Punishment in a Rapidly Changing Penal
Landscape
5.2 Non-Custodial Punishment: The Current Sentencing
Framework
Nominal and Warning Penalties
Financial Penalties
Community Penalties
Semi-Custodial Penalties
5.3 The Changing Shape of Non-Custodial Punishment
Warning Penalties
Financial Penalties
Compensatory Penalties
Reparative Penalties and Restorative Justice
Approaches
Supervisory Penalties and the Changing Role of the
Probation Service
Community Payback (‘Community Service’ or ‘Unpaid
Work’)
Surveillance and Restrictions on Movement: Curfews
and Electronic Monitoring
‘Hybrid’ Penalties
5.4 Community Punishment: Strategic Issues
Changing Penal Strategies and Their Impact on the Use
of Imprisonment and Community Punishment
Enforcement of Community Sentences: Sticks or
Carrots?
‘Sentence Management’ and the Changing Role of the
Judiciary
Effectiveness of Community Sentences
Transforming Rehabilitation? The Probation
Privatization Disaster
5.5 Shifting Patterns of Penality: Theoretical Reflections
Scull’s ‘Decarceration’ Thesis
Cohen and Mathiesen: The ‘Dispersal of Discipline’
Thesis
Bottoms’ ‘Juridical Revival’ Thesis
5.6 Conclusion: The Future of Punishment?
6 PRISONS AND THE PENAL CRISIS
6.1 Overview
6.2 The Aims and Functions of Imprisonment
Official Aims of Imprisonment
Social Functions of Imprisonment
6.3 The Prison System
The Prisons and the Prisoners
Privatization
The Debate around Prison Privatization
Privatization and the Crisis of Resources
6.4 Key Phases in Recent Prison Policy-Making
1995–2002: From Security and Control to Decency
2002–06: Keeping the Lid On – Pragmatism Reasserts
Itself
2006–12: Searching for Direction
2012–19: A Tale of Six Justice Secretaries
6.5 The Prison System and Its Crises
The Managerial Crisis
The Crises of Containment and Security
The Prison Numbers Crisis and the Problem of
Overcrowding
The Crisis of Conditions
The Crises of Control and Authority
The Crisis of Accountability
The Crisis of Legitimacy
7 EARLY RELEASE: THE PENAL SYSTEM’S SAFETY VALVE
7.1 Early Release: Useful, Controversial, Troublesome
7.2 History of Early Release
From Remission to Automatic Early Release
Parole (Discretionary Early Release)
7.3 Early Release Today
Fixed-Term (Determinate) Sentences
Extended Sentences
Life Imprisonment and Imprisonment for Public
Protection
The Parole Board
7.4 Conclusion: Early Release Evaluated
8 THE YOUTH JUSTICE SYSTEM
8.1 Young People, Crime and the Penal Crisis
8.2 Responding to Youth Crime: Models of Youth Justice
The Welfare Model
The Justice Model
Minimum Intervention and Systems Management
The Restorative Justice Model
Neo-Correctionalism
8.3 Neo-Correctionalism and Beyond: Youth Justice Since
1997
8.4 Responding to Youth Crime: The Youth Justice System
in Operation
8.5 Concluding Assessment: A Quiet but Unfinished
Revolution?
9 DIVERSITY AND BIAS IN THE CRIMINAL JUSTICE SYSTEM
9.1 Introduction
9.2 Class
9.3 Race
9.4 Gender
9.5 Other Issues of Diversity and Bias
9.6 Concluding Comment
10 SOLVING THE CRISIS?
10.1 A Grim Fairy Tale
10.2 Responses to the Crisis, 1970–2019
From Positivism to ‘Law and Order’ with Bifurcation:
1970–87
‘Just Deserts’ and Punishment in the Community:
1987–92
Law and Order Reinvigorated: 1993–7
‘Tough on Crime, Tough on the Causes of Crime’: New
Labour, 1997–2010
Austerity and the Crisis of Neo-Liberalism: Coalition
and Conservative Governments since 2010
10.3 How to Solve the Crisis
Approaches to the Penal Crisis
Measures to Solve the Crisis
The Prospects
Glossary of Key Terms
Notes
References
Index
Preface to the Sixth Edition
George Mair
Jamie Bennett
The Penal System was first published in 1992 and now, in 2019, here
comes the sixth edition. The longevity of the book is – we hope – an
acknowledgement of the coherence and persuasiveness of its
arguments. It is also, of course, a result of the penal crisis that it
explores being with us for so long that the book still has
contemporary relevance. And, last but by no means least, it is a
tribute to the work of Mick Cavadino and Jim Dignan who recognized
the need for a book focusing on the problems associated with the
penal system and – unlike many academics – then went on to write
that book. Retirement has meant that Mick and Jim’s input to this
edition has been limited, but we hope that this edition lives up to the
standards that they have set.
This edition brings the narrative up to the beginning of 2019 and the
crisis continues. Indeed, the last six years have – if anything – seen
matters worsen. Chris Grayling, one of several Justice Secretaries
during this period, seemed bent on ruining both prisons and
probation. Austerity has meant deep cuts in prison, court and
probation budgets with serious, wide-ranging and negative
consequences. The probation service has been subjected to a
disastrous privatization initiative which has led to near-total collapse.
And the ongoing confusion and uncertainty around Brexit have led to
an increasing sense of instability across the political board which
shows little sign of resolution. As we argue, this sense of impending
crisis may just provide an opportunity for reform of the penal
system, but we are not holding our breath.
It would be invidious to single out those individuals who have helped
us directly and indirectly with this edition; we are grateful to you all
– you know who you are. As usual, Sage has been supportive
throughout. Finally, we wish to acknowledge our partners and
children who have to live with the writing process – not always an
easy thing to do. George would like to thank Carmel for her unfailing
patience and love; and Ruth and Ethan for being themselves. Jamie
would like to thank Susan, Ben and Elizah, who make every day
worthwhile.
Online Resources
https://study.sagepub.com/thepenalsystem6e
For Instructors
The Sample Syllabus helps instructors devise a course plan
according to the book’s content to improve both teaching and
learning experiences.
For Students
A carefully curated list of Web links including blogs, datasets, and
webpages provides students with the most relevant research
material.
This book is about the penal system – the system that delivers official
punishment to those who have broken the law.1 (See section I.3
below to find out exactly what we mean by ‘punishment’.) More
precisely, we are centrally concerned with the ‘English’ penal system,
by which we mean the system in England and Wales. (Scotland and
Northern Ireland have separate systems.) However, much of what we
say (especially about penal philosophy and penal sociology in
Chapters 2 and 3) is of relevance to more than one country; and at
times we will be referring to other penal systems to help illuminate
the English (and Welsh) experience. While we have tried to be
factually correct, to outline differing viewpoints and to be as
comprehensive as is possible in a book of this size, we have not felt
any need to be shy about expressing our own opinions. In a nutshell,
these are that the English penal system is unjustly and irrationally
harsh, and that our penal practices and attitudes towards punishment
require radical revision.
‘Punishment’
Terminological quibbles start here. Some people prefer not to use the
word ‘punishment’ for measures which are intended to help the
offender, such as probation (or to help the victim, such as
compensation) rather than to hurt or harm the offender. However, in
this book we use the word to refer to any measure which is imposed
on an offender in response to an offence.
This might not seem a controversial claim. Nor would most people in
this country imagine that this ‘penal crisis’ is either new or sudden. For
many years, media reports have acquainted everyone with the notion
that rocketing prison populations, overcrowding, unrest among staff
and inmates, escapes and riots and disorder in prisons add up to a
severe and deepening penal crisis. The term ‘crisis’ has been common
currency in both media and academic accounts of the penal system for
over 30 years now; the word recurs in newspaper headlines and in the
titles of academic books and articles (for example Bottoms and Preston,
1980). Evidence for the existence of a crisis seems to be constantly in
the news. Recent years have seen – to mention just a few out of many
possible illustrations – the then Justice Secretary (Chris Grayling) having
to deny the existence of a crisis in 2014 following a highly critical
annual report from the Prisons Inspectorate (HMIP, 2014a); the
Ombudsman condemning ‘the wholly unacceptable level of violence’ in
prisons in 2016 (Prisons and Probation Ombudsman, 2016: 1); the
President of the Prison Governors’ Association publishing an open letter
in 2017 claiming that prisons were in crisis (Guardian, 2 August 2017);
prison officers taking industrial action; an Urgent Notification Procedure
being introduced in November 2017 in an effort to resolve serious and
pressing issues in prisons; the head of the prison service being told to
step down early as a result of the prisons crisis (Guardian, 20
September 2018); damning reports from the House of Commons Justice
Committee, the National Audit Office and the Chief Inspector of
Probation about the disastrous results of the government’s privatization
of probation services (House of Commons, 2018; HM Inspectorate of
Probation, 2019; National Audit Office, 2019); and another report from
the House of Commons Justice Committee condemning ‘an enduring
crisis in prison safety and decency that has lasted five years’ (House of
Commons Justice Committees 2019: 6). All of this comes against the
background of a prison population which continues at near record
levels, considerable cuts in budgets due to the response to the financial
crisis of 2008, what seems like a never-ending succession of Justice
Secretaries (six including Kenneth Clarke since 2012) and a continuing
deep malaise running through the penal system as a whole.
Yet is it really a ‘crisis’? Perhaps few would dispute that the penal
system has serious problems – but is it really in a state of crisis? Then
again, how long can a crisis last while remaining a crisis rather than
business as usual? Surely there is something paradoxical in claims that
the crisis has lasted for decades, or even (as was once said) that the
system has been ‘in a perpetual state of crisis since the Gladstone
Committee report of 1895’ (Fitzgerald and Sim, 1982: 3).
Whether or not we choose to use the word ‘crisis’, what are the causes
of the state the penal system is in, and how do its different problems
relate to each other?
Source: Ministry of Justice, Offender Management Caseload Statistics Tables and Prison
Population Monthly Bulletins (average populations1)
Table 1.2
Source: International Centre for Prison Studies, World Prison Brief website, accessed
January 2019
As Table 1.2 shows, England and Wales (along with Scotland) currently
have the largest prison population in Western Europe in proportion to
the total number of people in the country as a whole.2 It is true that
proportionate prison populations are even higher in some countries
outside Western Europe: indeed, the United States has around five
times as many prisoners relative to its population as do England and
Wales.3 Nevertheless, within the Western European frame of reference
Great Britain does seem to be strikingly punitive, having maintained a
position high in the prison population league table for many years now.
This relatively high prison population does not seem to be because the
UK has more crime, or more serious crime, than comparable countries.4
Rather, it is because more offenders are sent to custody, and for longer
periods, in the UK than elsewhere in Western Europe (see, for example,
Barclay and Tavares, 2000; NACRO, 1998; Pease, 1992).
There should be little doubt, then, that the present and predicted future
size of the prison population is a major problem. If drastic steps are not
taken to reduce prison numbers – and there is currently no sign of any
such steps being taken – they seem likely to grow even more
alarmingly in the coming years.
Overcrowding
At the end of January 2019 English and Welsh prisons officially had
adequate space for 74,571 inmates, but actually contained 82,233,
making the system as a whole overcrowded by a factor of 9 per cent.
By ‘adequate space’ we mean the official figure for the ‘in use certified
normal accommodation’ (or ‘uncrowded capacity’5) of all prisons in
total. The Prison Service also identifies a higher figure, the ‘operational
capacity’, defined as ‘the total number of prisoners that an
establishment can hold taking into account control, security and the
proper operation of the planned regime’. Adding the operational
capacity of all prisons together and deducting a safety margin of 2,000
yields a total ‘useable operational capacity’ – informally known as the
‘bust limit’ – for the system as a whole. This ‘bust limit’ was actually
exceeded in April 2004 and again in February 2008. In recent years the
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Ashes to ashes
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.
Language: English
by
ISABEL OSTRANDER
Contents
I The Lie
II The Trap
III The Blow
IV The Long Night
V When Morning Dawned
VI The Verdict
VII The Letter
VIII The Truth
IX The Escape
X A Chance Meeting
XI Luck
XII Mirage
XIII The Black Bag
XIV In His Hands
XV Ashes to Ashes
XVI The Second Vigil
XVII Missing
XVIII The Girl in the Watch Case
XIX Found
XX Marked
XXI The Unconsidered Trifle
XXII At the Club
XXIII The Scourge of Memory
XXIV If George Knew
XXV The Final Test
XXVI The Key
XXVII In the Library
XXVIII Just a Moment Please
Chapter I.
The Lie
“Well, that’s the situation.” Wendle Foulkes’ keen old eyes
narrowed as they gazed into the turbulent ones of his client across
the wide desk. “This last batch of securities is absolutely all that you
have left of your inheritance from your father. Leave them alone
where they are and you are sure of three thousand a year for
yourself and for Leila after you.”
Norman Storm struck the desk impatiently, and his lean,
aristocratic face darkened.
“Three thousand a year! It wouldn’t cover the running expenses
of the car and our country club bills alone!” he exclaimed. “I tell you,
Foulkes, this investment is a sure thing; it will pay over thirty per cent
in dividends in less than four years. I have straight inside information
on it—”
“So you had on all the other impulsive, ill-judged ventures that
have wiped out your capital, Norman.” The attorney sighed wearily. “I
don’t want to rub it in, but do you realize that you have squandered
nearly four hundred thousand dollars in the past ten years on wildcat
schemes and speculations? You’ve come to the end now; think it
over. Your salary with the Mammoth Trust Company is fifteen
thousand a year—on eighteen you and your wife ought to be living
fairly comfortably. I grant you that three thousand income per annum
isn’t much to leave Leila in the event of your death, but it is better
than the risk of utter insolvency, and she’s been spending her own
money pretty fast lately.”
“It is hers, to do with as she pleases!” Storm retorted sulkily and
then flushed as the school-boyishness of his own attitude was borne
in upon his consciousness. “You cannot make big money unless you
take a chance. I’ve been unlucky, that’s all. My father made all his in
Wall Street, and his father before him——”
“In solid investments, not speculations; and they were on the
inside themselves. They had the capital to take a gambler’s chance
and the acumen to play the game.” Foulkes rose and laid his hand
paternally upon the younger man’s shoulder. “Forgive me, my boy,
but you haven’t the temperament, the knowledge of when to stop
and the strength to do it. Of course, this money is yours
unreservedly; you may have it if you want to risk this last venture, but
it will take some time for me to convert the securities into cash.
Remember, you have reached the bottom of the basket; I only want
you to stop and consider, and not to jeopardize the last few thousand
you have in the world.”
Outside in the bright May sunshine once more, Storm shouldered
his way through the noon-tide throng on the busy pavement with
scant ceremony, his resentment hot against the man he had just left.
Confound old Foulkes! Why didn’t he keep his smug counsels for
those who came sniveling to him for them? As if he, an official of a
huge and noted corporation, were a mere lad once more, to be
lectured for over-spending his allowance!
The fact that the position he held with the trust company entailed
no financial responsibility and was practically an honorary one,
granted him solely because of his father’s former connection with
that institution, was a point which did not present itself to his mind.
He was occupied in closing his mental eyes to the truth of the
lawyer’s arraignment, bolstering his defiance with excuses for the
repeated fiascos of his past ventures, and the secret knowledge that
Foulkes had read him aright only added fuel to the flames.
Still inwardly seething, he crossed Broadway and plunged into
another narrow, crowded cross-street lined by towering office
buildings whose walls rose like cliffs on either side. From the tallest
of these, an imposing structure of white stone which reared a shaft
high above its neighbors, a woman emerged and mingled with the
hurrying host before him. She was not a toiler of the financial district;
that was evident from the costly simplicity of the smart little toque
upon her shining golden hair and the correct lines of her severely
tailored costume. She was undeniably pretty with the delicate, tender
irregularity of feature which just escapes actual beauty; yet it was not
that which caused Norman Storm to halt and drove from him all
thought of the late interview.
It was his wife. Leila! What possible errand could have brought
her to the city and to this portion of it? Surely an unexpected one, for
she had not told him of any such intention; indeed, to his knowledge
she had never before invaded the precincts of finance, and he could
conceive of no possible reason for her presence there.
As he paused, momentarily petrified with astonishment, a stout
little man upon the opposite curb also caught sight of the young
woman’s hurrying figure, and he, too, stopped in surprise, a smile
lighting his plain, commonplace features. Then, as though drawn by
a magnet, his pale, rather faded blue eyes traveled straight to where
Norman Storm stood, the surprise deepened, and with a half-audible
exclamation he started across the street toward him; but a long
double line of drays and motor trucks barred his way.
Meanwhile Leila had vanished utterly in the crowd, and Storm
realizing the futility of an attempt to overtake her, dismissed the
matter from his thoughts with a shrug. She would tell him of her
errand, of course, on his return home; and a conference of
importance awaited his immediate presence at the office of the trust
company.
The conference developed complications which delayed him until
long after the closing hour, forcing him to forego an engagement with
Millard for a round of golf at the country club. He likewise missed his
accustomed train bearing the club car out to Greenlea and was
compelled to herd in with commuters bound for the less exclusive
suburban communities on the line.
Storm was not a snob, but the atmosphere of petty clerking and
its attendant interests grated upon his tired, highly strung
sensibilities; the unsatisfactory interview of the morning with Foulkes
returned to exasperate him further and he was in no very genial
frame of mind when he alighted at the station.
But Barker was on hand promptly with the smart little car which
consumed such an incredible amount of gasolene, and the air of the
soft spring twilight was infinitely grateful after the smoke and
stuffiness of the train. As they drove swiftly past the rolling lawns of
one spacious landscape garden after another, each burgeoning with
its colorful promise of the blossoming year, his taut nerves relaxed,
and he settled back in contented ease. What if he had been unlucky
in past speculations, if old Foulkes did consider him an unstable
weakling? Leila believed in him, and she was his, all his!
The glimmer of white upon the veranda half-hidden in the trees
resolved itself into a slender, fairy-like figure, and as he alighted from
the car and mounted the steps she caught his hands in the eager,
childish way which was one of her chief charms.
“Oh, Norman, how late you are! Poor dear, did they keep him at
that wretched old office and make him miss his golf?” She lifted her
face for his evening kiss, and her soft, blue eyes glowed with a deep,
warm light. “George is here; I mean, he ’phoned from the Millards’.
He’s coming over for dinner.”
“That’s the reason for the début of the new white gown, eh?”
Storm laughed. “By Jove, I believe I ought to be jealous of old
George! When a man’s wife and his best friend——”
“Don’t!” There was a quick note almost of distress in Leila’s
tones. “I don’t like to hear you joke that way about him, dear. He
seems so lonely, standing just outside of life, somehow. He hasn’t
anything of this!”
She waved her little hands in a comprehensive gesture as if to
take in the whole atmosphere of the home, and her husband laughed
carelessly once more.
“It’s his own fault, then. Don’t waste any sympathy on him on that
score, Leila. George is a confirmed old bachelor; he would run a mile
from a suggestion of domesticity.” At the door he turned. “Oh, I say
dear——”
But Leila was already down the steps and had started across the
lawn, at the farther side of which Storm discerned a short stout
commonplace figure approaching; and turning once more he
hastened to his room to change.
George Holworthy, two years his senior, had been a classmate of
Storm’s at the university twenty years before, and the
companionship—rather a habit of association than a friendship—
which had grown up between the undisciplined, high-spirited boy and
his duller, more phlegmatic comrade had proved a lasting one
despite the wide dissimilarity in their natures. Storm was too
fastidious, Holworthy too seriously inclined, for dissipation to have
attracted either of them, but while the former had drifted, plunging
recklessly from one speculation to another, the latter had plodded
slowly, steadily ahead until at forty-two he had amassed a
comfortable fortune and attained a position of established
recognition among his business associates.
An hour later, as they sat drinking their after-dinner coffee on the
veranda, Leila’s words returned to his mind, and Storm found himself
eying his guest in half-disparaging appraisal. Good, stupid old
George! How stodgy and middle-aged he was getting to be! His hair
was noticeably thin on top and peppered with gray and he looked
like anything but an assured, successful man of affairs as he
lounged, round-shouldered, in his chair, his mild eyes blinking
nearsightedly at Leila, who sat on the veranda steps cradling one
chiffon clad knee between her clasped hands.
George looked every day of fifty. Now, if he would only patronize
a smart tailor, join a gymnasium and work some of that adipose
tissue off, he wouldn’t be half bad-looking. Unconsciously Norman
Storm squared his shoulders and drew his slim, lithe form erect in his
chair. Then his muscles tightened convulsively and he sat with every
nerve tense, for a snatch of the disjointed conversation had
penetrated his abstraction and its import stunned him.
“You weren’t in town to-day, then?” The question, seemingly a
repetition of some statement of Leila’s, came stammeringly from
Holworthy’s lips.
“Oh, dear, no!” Her laugh tinkled out upon the soft air. “I haven’t
been in perfect ages! It doesn’t attract me now that spring is here.”
Not in town! But he had seen her himself! Sheer surprise held
Storm silent for a moment.
When he spoke his voice sounded strange to his own ears.
“Where were you all day, Leila? What did you do with yourself?”
“I—I lunched out at the Ferndale Inn with Julie Brewster.” Her
tone was low, and she did not turn her head toward him as she
replied, adding hurriedly: “George, when are you going to give up
those stuffy rooms of yours in town and take a bungalow out here?
You can keep bachelor hall just as well; lots of nice men are doing
it . . .”
Through the desultory talk which followed, Storm sat as if in a
trance. If the blue tailored frock and hat with its saucy quill had not
been familiar to him in every line, he could still not have mistaken
that glimpse of her profile, the carriage of her head, the coil of
shining, spun-gold hair. Ferndale Inn was twenty miles away, a good
sixty from town, and inaccessible save by motor; she could not
possibly have reached there in time for luncheon, for it was after
twelve when she had passed him on that crowded, downtown street.
She had told a deliberate falsehood; but why?
“I think if you don’t mind, George, I’ll say good night.” Leila rose
at last, her white gown shimmering in the darkness. “I feel a bit tired
and headachey——”
“Not faint, Leila?” Holworthy spoke in quick solicitude.
“One of my old attacks you mean?” She laughed lightly. “Indeed,
no! I haven’t had one in ever so long. It is nothing that a good, early
sleep won’t put right. I suppose it is no use to ask you to stay
overnight, George?”
He shook his head.
“Must be at the office early to-morrow. I’ll catch the ten-forty train
to town. Good night, Leila. Sleep well.”
“Good night.” She touched her husband’s cheek softly with her
finger-tips as she passed him, and he felt that they were icy cold.
“Put on your coat if you go to the station with George, dear; these
early Spring nights are deceptive.”
Deceptive! And she, who had never lied to him before in the ten
years of their married life, was going to her rest with a falsehood
between them! Storm felt as if someone had struck him suddenly,
unfairly between the eyes. The fact in itself was a staggering one,
but a score of questions beat upon his brain. Why, if she wished to
conceal her errand to town, had she not been content merely to deny
her presence there? Why drag in the Ferndale Inn and Julie
Brewster?
As if his thoughts had in some way communicated themselves to
his companion, the latter asked suddenly:
“What sort of a place is this Ferndale Inn, Norman?”
“Oh, the usual thing. Imitation Arcadia at exorbitant prices. Why?”
“Oh, I’ve heard things.” The tip of Holworthy’s cigar described a
glowing arc as he gestured vaguely. “I guess it is quiet enough; Leila
wouldn’t see anything wrong there in a million years unless she
happened to run into some of her own set in an indiscreet hour. I’m
informed that it is quite a rendezvous for those who are
misunderstood at their own firesides.”
“George, you’re getting to be a scandal-monger!” Storm laughed
shortly, his thoughts still centered on his problem. “The Inn is under
new management this season, and anyway you needn’t take a crack
at our set out here. They’re up-to-date, a bit unconventional,
perhaps, but never step out of bounds. The trouble with you, old
man, is that you’re old-fashioned and narrow; you don’t get about
enough——”
“I get about enough to hear things!” Holworthy retorted with
unusual acerbity. “Your crowd here at Greenlea is no different from
any other small community of normal people thrown together
intimately under the abnormal conditions created by too much
money and not enough to do. I don’t mean you two, but look around
you. This Julie Brewster of whom Leila spoke just now; she is Dick
Brewster’s wife, isn’t she? I don’t discuss women as a rule, but she’s
going it rather strong with young Mattison. Dick’s not a fool; he’ll
either blow up some day or find somebody’s else wife to listen to his
tale of woe and hand out the sympathy. That is merely a case in
point.”
“And just before your arrival, Leila was bemoaning the fact that
you’d missed domestic happiness!”
“Was she? Well, there are different kinds of happiness in this
world, you know; perhaps I’ve found mine in just looking on.” He
rose, “I’ll get on down to the station now, old man. No, don’t rout out
Barker; I’d rather walk.”
“I’ll stroll down with you, then.” Storm paused to light a cigarette,
then followed his guest down the veranda steps. He shrank from
facing Leila again that night; he would wait until the morning, and
perhaps later she would explain. Perhaps the explanation of her
prevarication lay in the fact of George’s presence; whatever her
errand, she might not have cared to discuss it before him. As this
solution presented itself to his mind Storm grasped at it eagerly. That
was it, of course! What a fool he had been to worry, to doubt her! He
could have laughed aloud in sheer relief.
“This is a great little place you have out here, Norman.”
Holworthy halted at the gate to glance back at the house outlined in
the moonlight. “I don’t wonder you’re proud of it. The grounds are
perfect, too; that little corner there, where the hill dips down and the
trout stream runs through, couldn’t have been laid out better if you
had planned it.”
“It wouldn’t be a little corner if that old rascal Jaffray would sell
me that stretch of land which cuts into mine, confound him!” Storm
plunged with renewed zest into a topic ever rankling with him. “I’ve
tried everything to force his hand, but the scoundrel hangs on to it
through nothing in the world but blasted perversity! I tell you,
George, it spoils the whole place for me sometimes, and I feel like
selling out!”
“Leave all this after the years you and Leila have put in
beautifying it because you can’t have an extra bit that belongs to
someone else?” Holworthy shook his head. “Don’t be a fool,
Norman! If you can only get another head gardener as good as
MacWhirter was——”
“I’ll have MacWhirter himself back in a month,” Storm interrupted.
“Didn’t Leila tell you? She saw him yesterday at the Base Hospital.
He has lost a leg, but he’ll stump around as well as ever on an
artificial one, and if he had to be wheeled about in a chair Leila
wouldn’t hear of not having him back. She is the most loyal little soul
in the world.”
“Of course she is!” Holworthy assented hastily. “You’re the
luckiest man living, Norman, and she is the best of women!”
He paused abruptly, and when he spoke again there was an odd,
constrained note in his usually placid tones.
“How about the South American investment? I wish you wouldn’t
go into it——”
“So, evidently, does Foulkes!” Storm retorted. “I had it out with
him to-day, and the old pettifogger talked as though I were the
original Jonah; told me to my face that I had no head for business
——”
“Well, he’s right on that,” remarked the other, with the candor of
long association. “This South American thing isn’t sound; I’ve looked
into it, and I know. The big fellows would have taken hold of it long
ago if it had been worth while. You certainly cannot afford to take a
chance where they won’t.”
The discussion which ensued lasted until the station was reached
and Holworthy, with a final wave of his hand, disappeared into the
smoker of the train which was just pulling out.
Storm had had rather the better of the argument, as usual, for the
other’s slower mind was not sufficiently agile to grasp his brilliant but
shallow points and turn them against him, and he started homeward
in high good humor. How peaceful and still everything lay under the
pale shimmering haze of moonlight! Leila would be fast asleep by
now. What a child she was at heart, in spite of her twenty-eight
years! How she had hesitated, even over that little white lie that she
had been to Ferndale Inn with Julie Brewster, and how stupid he had
been to force it by questioning her before George!
The house as he approached it lay cloaked in darkness amid the
shadow of the trees save only the subdued ray of light which shone
out from the hall door, which in the custom of Greenlea he had left
ajar. His footsteps made no sound on the soft, springing turf of the
lawn, but when he reached the veranda the sharp, insistent shrill of
the telephone came to his ears.
As he started forward it ceased abruptly, and to his amazement
he heard Leila’s voice in a murmur of hushed inquiry. The murmur
was prolonged, and after a moment he slipped into the hall and
stood motionless, unconscious of his act, listening with every nerve
strained to the words which issued from the library.
“It is a frightful risk, dear! . . . I know, I’ve had to fib about it
already to him . . . No, of course he doesn’t, but what if others . . . .
Yes, but he has only gone to the station with George Holworthy; he’ll
be back any minute, and then what can I say? . . . . Of course I will, I
promised, but you must be mad! . . . Yes, in ten minutes.”
Storm heard the receiver click and had only time to shrink back
into the embrasure of the window when Leila emerged from the
library, still clad in her dinner gown, and passing him swiftly, seized a
long, dark cloak from the rack and sped noiselessly out of the door.
Storm’s breath caught harshly in his throat, and he took an
impetuous step or two after her, Then he halted, and with head erect
and clenched hands he turned and mounted the stairs.
Chapter II.
The Trap
“Didn’t you sleep well, dear? You look dreadfully tired.” Leila’s
eyes fluttered upward to meet her husband’s across the breakfast
table and then lowered as she added hesitatingly: “I—I didn’t hear
you come in last night.”
“No?” Storm gazed at her in studied deliberation as he
responded. “I did not wish to disturb you.”
She looked as fresh and sparkling as the morning, and the
sudden wild-rose color which flooded her cheeks beneath his
scrutiny heightened the charm of the picture she made; yet it sent a
surge of hot resentment to his heart. Her solicitude was not for him,
but in fear lest he had discovered her absence on that nocturnal
errand!
He wondered at himself, at his stoic outward calm as he
accepted his cup of coffee from her hands. Every fiber of him cried
out to seize her hand and wring the truth from her lips, but the pride
which had held him back from following her on the previous night still
dominated him after sleepless hours of nerve-racking doubt. He
would make sure of the truth without whining for explanations or
dogging her footsteps.
Leila glanced at him furtively more than once as he forced
himself to eat, then left her own breakfast almost untasted and
turned with a sigh to the little pile of letters beside her plate. As she
scanned them Storm saw her expression change, and she thrust one
of the envelopes hastily beneath the rest; but not before his eyes
had caught two words of the superscription upon the upper left hand
corner.
“Leicester Building.” That was the name of the skyscraper from
which he had seen her emerge on the previous day! His hands
clenched and he thrust back his chair with a harsh, grating noise as
he rose.
“I must go. I am late,” he muttered thickly.
“But Norman, dear, Barker hasn’t brought the car around yet.”
Leila, too, rose from her chair and with a quick movement thrust the
tell-tale letter into her belt.
“No matter, I’ll walk.” He turned to the door with a blind instinct of
flight before he betrayed himself. If his suspicions were after all
capable of an explanation other than the one his jealous fury
presented he would not play the fool. But he must know!
“Will you be home early this afternoon?” Leila bent to rearrange
the daffodils in a low glass bowl as she spoke, and her face was
averted from him. “Early enough for your golf, I mean?”
“No, I shan’t be out here until late. Don’t wait dinner for me.” A
swift thought came to him, and he added deliberately: “There is to be
a special meeting at the club in town; I’ll try to catch the midnight
train, but in the event that I decide to stay over, I’ll ’phone, of course.”
She followed him out upon the veranda for his customary farewell
kiss, but to his relief he spied a familiar runabout halting at the gate
and escaped from her with a wave of his hand.
“There’s Millard! I’ll ride down with him. Good-bye.”
Millard was a golf enthusiast, and his detailed description of the
previous day’s game lasted throughout the interval at the station, but
it fell upon deaf ears.
Storm’s thoughts were in a turmoil. At one moment he felt that he
could no longer endure the strain of the attitude he had assumed;
that he must stop the train, rush back to his wife and demand from
her the truth. At the next, his pride once more came uppermost; his
pride, and the underlying doubt that his worst suspicions were
actually founded on fact, which made him fear to render himself
ridiculous in her eyes. It was true that she had lied about her
presence in the city on the previous day, but she had gone openly to
an office building at broad noon and left it alone. She had received a
letter from someone in that building which she tried to keep from his
observation, but her expression when she picked it up, although
furtive, had not been guilty; rather, it had been full of pleased
expectancy, as quickly masked. That visit, that letter might be simply
explained, but the telephone call which he had overheard, the errand
that had caused her, his wife, to steal from her house at midnight like
a thief——!
There could be no other construction than the obvious one! He
recalled her cool, unruffled assurance at the breakfast table, her
charming air of solicitude at his own haggard appearance, and his
blood boiled with rage. Did she think to deceive him, to keep him
indefinitely in the state of fatuous complacency in which he had
pitied other husbands? Was he to be spoken of, for instance, as
George Holworthy had spoken of Dick Brewster the night before?
With the thought Storm glanced about him at his neighbors in the
club car. If what he suspected were true, did any of them know
already? Were any of them pitying him with that careless, half-
contemptuous pity reserved for the deceived? He detected no sign of
it, but the idea was like a knife turned in a wound, and he hurried
from them as soon as the train drew in to the city station.
There he found himself mechanically making his way toward the
Leicester Building, with no very clear impression of what he meant to
do on arrival. Among its myriad offices, representing scores of varied
financial and commercial activities, he could scarcely hope to obtain
a clue to the purpose of his wife’s visit; and yet the place drew him
like a magnet.
Within the entrance he halted before the huge directory board
with its rows of names alphabetically arranged; halted, and then
stood as though transfixed. Midway down the first column a single
name had leaped out to him, and its staring letters of white upon the
black background seemed to dance mockingly before his vision.
“Brewster, Richard E. Insurance Broker.”
Dick Brewster! The husband of that light-headed, irresponsible
little Julie, the very man to whom his thoughts had turned in the train
not a half-hour since! The man of whom George Holworthy had
spoken—and what was it that George had said?
“She’s going it rather strong with young Mattison. Dick’s not a
fool; he’ll either blow up some day or find somebody’s else wife to
sympathize——” Was that the solution? Could old George, obtuse as
he was, have divined the truth and been trying in his stupid,
blundering fashion, to warn him? Could it actually be that the woman